


Serendipity

by Radclyffe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b Ficlets, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radclyffe/pseuds/Radclyffe
Summary: A 'what if they knew each other before, before war and drugs came along, would they ever find each other again' storyline for #fictober2019





	1. “It will be fun, trust me.”

“It will be fun, trust me.”

John is not convinced. He’s been clubbing with Harry before, and while he’s not adverse to a few drinks on his last night of freedom he knows what he’s in for if he says yes.

Harry’s on a roll, employing the same wheedling voice she’s used to get her own way ever since she was six. John will do anything to make her stop.

“Please Johnny, you know you’ll enjoy it when you get there, shake your tail feather a bit, show the boys what they’ll be missing.”

“And keep you company for five minutes, till you head off with some honey who takes your fancy.”

Harry doesn’t meet his eyes, her usual tell.

“So not just any honey, no…let me guess… the famous Clara?”

“It’s Frieda’s birthday…”

“Harry…!”

“I’m not crashing; I can’t help it if I’m there having a farewell drink with my baby brother."

John isn’t moved.

Harry tries again “I need you, moral support, keep me on the wagon. And who knows when you’ll get another chance to hook up with some cute guy, you’re in the army now.”

He has to agree his sister has a point.

Which is how, Dr John Watson, RAMC, 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, came to spend his last night before deployment… in a gay bar.


	2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2

The taxi driver had refused to take them the whole way, dropping them off in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, good going for London.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place” John called to Harry’s disappearing back.

“Just follow me, I know the area.”

“Well, you would,” John muttered to himself, jogging a little to keep up.

The club, when they finally reached it, was in John’s opinion, a right dump. The entrance tucked away underneath the railway arches in an alley that ran alongside the canal (not exactly Canal Street). The scrawny ginger haired bouncer didn’t look as if he would offer much resistance should John decide he was getting in without paying, or much use if there was any ‘trouble’.

Inside wasn’t much better. It might have been generously described as having retro charm, if you liked the 1970s and could stand the smell of mildew. The back room claimed an aquatic theme, though John suspected the water running down the walls was incidental rather than deliberate.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

Harry nodded, eyes furtively scanning the room for her intended prey.

John wasn’t convinced, he’d never met Frieda or any of her crowd but it didn’t seem the kind of place a human rights lawyer would chose for her birthday bash.


	3. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter one tall, thin, nervy looking brunette. #19

The place might be dive and smell like his boots after a twenty mile hike but the beer was cheap and the music… the music was sublime.

Lo and behold, Frieda, Clara and the birthday party had actually turned up. Harry had feigned surprise for approximately thirty seconds before attaching herself limpet like to the tall, thin, nervy looking brunette he assumed was Clara. She was Harry’s type, and he conceded, not dissimilar to his own.

Abandoned, John headed down to the crowded dance floor, crowded, not least because it was the size of a handkerchief. He’d been there an hour or more, he’d lost track of the time, dancing and checking out the talent, when he heard Harry calling his name.

“John! Johnny, having fun are we?”

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

“Look, we’re heading off now, Clara’s got work in the morning, and we’re going to share a cab… Wish me luck, I’ll find out where she lives even if I don’t get invited in for coffee.”

“Good luck!”

“Got your key?”

“Yep, I won’t wait up.”

John watched his sister weave her way through the club to where Clara was waiting. The night was young and he’d spied a potential tall, thin, nervy looking brunette of his own. And if not, there was always the beat.


	4. “Scared, me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #31

Gorgeous.

John is back on the dance floor, gradually closing the distance between himself and the dark haired man he has privately labelled ‘Mr Cheekbones’. He’s everything that he could ask for, younger than John but no twink, taller but not ridiculously so, slight, but giving off a confidence that belies his frame, and absolutely… blinking… gorgeous. No wonder John’s hearing the call of the wild, even if the guy is way out of his league.

Except perhaps he’s not because just maybe it’s not the miniscule dance floor that’s causing John and Mr Cheekbones to be dancing in ever decreasing circles round each other.

“Drink?”

The voice bellows in John’s ear above the noise of the disco. Without waiting for an answer the stranger begins to push his way to the bar, the crowds parting like the red sea, John following in his wake. They drink their drinks at the bar, the man checks his watch.

“Drink up. Cottage, three minutes, last cubicle, furthest from the door.”

“What?”

“You heard, give it three minutes then follow me in… not scared are you?”

“Scared, me? Never.”

“Three minutes,” John checks his own watch.

It wasn’t quite how he’d seen the night pan out, but if that’s all that’s on offer, he won’t say no to a hand job in the bogs.


	5. “We could have a chance.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #22

John taps softly on the door of the last cubicle. The gents, like the rest of the club, is busy though no one is paying attention to him. The door opens just enough to let John in.

John is ready to embrace his date for the night, as a prelude to a more exciting encounter. Instead he finds Mr Cheekbones standing on the toilet seat pushing at a hatch in the ceiling.

“We need to get out.”

“What on earth?”

“The club’s about to be raided, I’ve no wish to be here when the police arrive and I suspect neither do you. This hatch leads to the roof space, there’s a fire exit that opens directly onto the canal path. If I give you a bunk up, then you can help me and we could have a chance of getting away.”

Do the police really still raid gay bars? John wonders but he can already hear the sound of running, dogs barking and voices raised. He decides not to wait to find out.

Sobering up John orders, “Out of my way!”

John manoeuvres, firstly the seat, then the cistern and finally a shoulder. Once he’s safely in the roof space he turns to haul up his comrade, and they’re away, running and laughing through the fire door into the night beyond.


	6. “I could really eat something.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #25

They don’t stop running until they reach the main street, brightly lit and busy with bars still open although it’s after one. They collapse against a wall, breathless and giddy.

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

“Up until now,” Mr Cheekbones replies.

Now sex is off the menu, John realises he’s starving.

“I could really eat something.”

“Chinese? I know an excellent one round here.”

They head off together, John falling into step while his companion explains his method for rating restaurants. John loses the thread after door handles but doesn’t mind, he is just fascinating to listen to.

“How did you know about the raid?” John asks after their order has been taken.

“I deduced at least three punters were undercover police, not hard to spot the signs if you know what you’re looking for. Of course there was nothing on the premises more noteworthy than a few tabs of MDMA and some poppers, the Met were in completely the wrong place. But I had no intention of hanging around for hours while they worked that one out.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Outside on the pavement, meal finished, fortune cookies predicted, John holds out his hand, “Well thanks again. Nice meeting you.”

The man looks nonplussed, “You’re going? I’d rather thought we’d end the night in bed.”


	7. “I might just kiss you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5

“Stop with me, I know a place.”

Of course he does, in fact John is beginning to think there’s no end to this extraordinary creature’s knowledge.

Less than fifteen minutes later they’re in the service lift of an unprepossessing hotel heading for the attic rooms, the CCTV neatly sabotaged.

“You really think we’ll get away with this?” John whispers as he watches Mr Cheekbones expertly pick the lock.

“It’s low season, the owners are abroad and the night porter’s drunk,” the door springs open, “and we’re in.”

It’s sparsely furnished as befits a room that’s seldom let, but it is clean and when John tests it, the bed is comfortable and quiet.

They circle round each other strangely shy as they undress. John is not as experienced in these matters as he would like to appear, and it occurs to him his new friend is probably the same; having studied him more closely in the lift, he’s certainly younger than John first thought.

They climb into bed quite separately and despite their nakedness seem uncertain what comes next.

John yawns, “Well, I might just go to sleep,” he says, teasingly, “or I might just kiss you.”

John makes a sudden move that lands him on top of the long pale body he’s lusted after all night.

“Now, where shall I begin?”


	8. “Can you stay?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #8

John Watson has had better sex, more skilful lovers, male and female both, but never has he felt such an instant connection with anyone.

In the distance a clock strikes five, or maybe six, did he count the first chime? Either way it is nearly light, the hotel will soon be rousing, they need to make a move.

He tries to extract himself from a tentacle hold. “I have to go.”

The grip tightens. “Seriously… you must let me go.”

The grip relaxes slightly, “Can you stay?”

“I can’t, if we’d met…” Sadness threatens to overwhelm John and he cannot finish.

The arms tighten again as John is pulled close and kissed quite thoroughly. The longing grows, John groans. Did the clock strike five or six? Don’t think like that, he tells himself, he breaks away and is swiftly out of bed, throwing on his clothes.

From the bed a gruff voice says, “I understand. I too am not ready for this.”

“I’m going abroad, but I’ll be back; let’s meet again, same day next year.”

“Seriously?”

“The steps of the British Museum. At six o’clock.”

A noise outside, the lift whirring, someone is about. “I must go, remember the British Museum, 6pm.”

It only occurs to John he doesn’t know Mr Cheekbones’ name when he’s already halfway to the Base.


	9. “No, and that’s final.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #7

Sherlock waltzes through the hotel lobby and out in to the street, despite his rumpled clothes and day old stubble his general air of entitlement leaves him unchallenged.

He feels… different, which is nonsense of course, there can be no material difference wrought from three hours fumbling in the dark. _Today is the first day of the rest of your life_, the sentiment is stuck in his head, unworthy of the rational mind but remarkably persistent. Sherlock smiles, the British Museum, right on his doorstep.

Back in his bedsit in Bloomsbury Sherlock enjoys a hot shower and shaves. He tames his birds nest hair and dresses in his sharpest suit. Today he thinks, today anything is possible.

He takes the tube to Embankment station and walks to New Scotland Yard, where he hangs around to ambush DS Lestrade of the Metropolitan Police when he emerges through the staff entrance for a crafty fag.

Lestrade doesn’t wait for Sherlock to speak; the man’s been hounding him for days, ever since the first body was discovered.

“No, and that’s final.”

Sherlock starts to argue, the circular argument that he and the policeman have been caught in all week. Lestrade’s immutable.

Sherlock lets forth a couple of angry deductions that do him no favours, and departs to bother a bloke he knows at Bart’s.


	10. “There is a certain taste to it”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #9

Once at Bart’s Sherlock employs his usual mix of innocence and experience to inveigle his way into the labs. He has recently hacked into the hospital’s HR system and issued himself with a swipe card in the name of Peter Wesson. He’s yet to be challenged and thus makes free with the facilities.

Today his favourite haunt is occupied by a recently qualified clinical toxicologist who moonlights as a tutor to the undergraduates at UCL. Sherlock deduces that he is thinking of going into teaching full time although he would have to widen his specialism. Sherlock doesn’t offer his opinion… but thinks he should.

Sherlock does not dislike Mike Stamford, an unsuspecting character who genuinely believes that Sherlock has permission to be on the premises despite having met the real Peter Wesson on at least three occasions. Today, Mike is even more distracted than usual, having learnt on the hospital grapevine that his friend from his med school days, John Watson, is due to be deployed in Afghanistan. Mike is naturally concerned.

“Ethylene glycol!” Sherlock barks at him suddenly, breaking Stamford’s reverie. “Detectable in food?”

“There is a certain taste to it,” Stamford is used to Sherlock’s random interrogations by now, “Unlike many poisons, sweet not bitter.”

“It was self-administered in the jelly,” Sherlock deflates, disappointed it’s not a murder.

“Boring!”


	11. “There is just something about him.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #17

High functioning sociopath.

At some point in the midst of a childhood spent at odds with the world around him, one or other of his psychiatrists had labelled Sherlock thus.

Sherlock clung to it as a life raft. Still does.

It explains a lot…

The unmitigated tedium of his everyday existence, without the violin or other stimulant.

The unconscionable level of idiocy in the people who surround him.

The people who will not be quiet even when they are silent.

The mixture of exasperation and regret on the faces of his family when he’s with them.

Why everyone he meets regards him as a freak.

Except one possible exception.

Tonight, returning to his bedsit in Montague Street, as he passes the portico of the British Museum, Sherlock cannot prevent a smile. Six months, three days and seventeen hours.

He knows the odds are the soldier won’t turn up, that without the benefits of Sherlock’s eidetic memory he won’t remember their hastily made appointment, or worse he was having him on. But Sherlock cannot forget and although he dismisses such thoughts as foolish sentiment, weakness even, he admits reluctantly to himself “there is just something about him.”

And behind the protective wall of cynicism and arrogance Sherlock has fortified himself with, smothered but not extinguished, a tiny flame of hope burns brightly.


	12. “It’s not always like this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #11

John is a good doctor, an experienced trauma surgeon with a steady hand and a clear eye. He’d had stints in two major accident and emergency departments before enlisting, but nothing he saw there, even the worst of RTAs, has prepared him for war.

He emerges from the medical unit just as dawn is breaking. He has worked three consecutive shifts in the aftermath of yet another roadside IED, and needs a breather. His tally is like a football score, won four, lost two. Not good.

Nursing Officer Murray joins him, running his eyes up and down Watson’s form before they rest on his exhausted face.

“It’s not always like this.”

Murray has the seasoned combat medic’s sense of humour. “Sometimes it’s worse.”

John doesn’t have the energy to laugh. Instead he stares at the sky, watching it change from grey, to mauve, to pink and remembers a pair of silvery green eyes, a purple shirt and a rosebud mouth. John knows that he’s a romantic, and will almost certainly be disappointed but keeping the dream alive, somehow keeps him going.

Three months, six days, John consults his watch, and fifteen hours (possibly he still hasn’t got his head around the time zones), God willing, he’ll be walking up the steps of the British Museum.

Until then it’s back to business.


	13. “Listen. No, really listen.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #16

The bombardment continues, the tour extended, all leave is cancelled.

John is frantic; he is four and a half thousand miles away from where he is meant to be. There’s nothing else for it, in the midst of the chaos he secures a telephone call to his only relative.

Harry is delighted to hear from him. “Johnny!” she exclaims before launching into an excited prattle about how amazing it is that he should call at this precise moment in her life.

John tries to shut her up, “Listen, I can’t talk long, shut up a minute.”

Harry carries on, her awful job, Clara, public transport, the weather, bottomless trivia.

John tries again, “No, really listen. I need your help.”

John explains, he explains again, he gets Harry to write it down and read it back to him.

“6 o’clock Friday, outside the British Museum. Tall, dark and handsome, got it.”

“Just tell him where I am, get his name, mobile number, email, anything.”

Harry is sceptical, “What makes you think he’ll even be there?”

John can’t articulate the reason, the instantaneous connection between two souls, ridiculous really but unforgettable.

“I just know. Don’t let me down Harry, I beg of you.”

“Of course I won’t, I’d never stand in the way of true love, not when it concerns my baby brother”


	14. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #23

Clara, feminist, intellectual and civil rights lawyer, has been Harry’s significant other for almost a year. Like all new lovers Harry has spent the last twelve months on her best behaviour and with a split personality. Clara has only met the charming funny Harry Two and has never been exposed to the chaotic hardened drinker that’s Harry One.

Clara is in Geneva to present a paper on human trafficking and will be away for three days. Time enough for Harry One to enjoy a much needed session and for Harry Two to destroy the evidence.

Harry makes an early start with a couple of pints at the Village before moving on to the Jester and the vodka. At the Queen’s Arms she bumps into Jules and Helen and some of their mates who take an easily persuaded Harry to a new place up west.

Helen and Jules provide a sympathetic ear, they know Clara of old and appreciate Harry’s dilemma. It is not so easy to be in a relationship with a paragon.

“She asks too much of me,” Harry wails.

“You can’t give more than yourself,” Helen agrees, as they load the inebriated Harry into a taxi.

Sleeping it off all day, Harry wakes with a start at half past seven.

“Shit! Wasn’t there somewhere I was meant to be?”


	15. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #24

Sherlock is keeping busy.

At Bart’s he toys with an experiment, crackling with kinetic energy and bouncing on the balls of his feet in a manner that even causes the usually unobservant Mike Stamford to wonder what’s up with the visiting chemist.

“Experiment, won’t be ready until six.”

Mike glances at his watch, it’s ten to ten, “You’ll have to be patient then won’t you.”

“Patience… is not something I’m known for,” Sherlock concedes.

Mike isn’t surprised, “well find something to keep you busy.”

Back home, Sherlock disposes of the liver in the microwave and the spleen in the fridge; he isn’t tidying, just keeping busy.

He returns the stolen books on famous poisoners to the library, not because of conscience, just keeping busy.

He changes the linen on his bed, not making plans, just keeping busy.

At four o’clock he takes a shower, shaves and dresses carefully, not for any special reason, just keeping busy.

At ten to six he leaves his little bedsit and walks slowly to the grand entrance of the British Museum, where he waits for over an hour, deducing the visitors, the staff, the passers-by, just keeping busy.

Back at Montague St, Sherlock dresses in jeans and a tatty hoodie and goes down to the Embankment in search of his old friend Wiggins, just keeping busy.


	16. “Enough! I heard enough.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #28

It is nearly a week before John has the opportunity to speak to Harry on the phone again.

For six days he has calmly and compassionately tended the wounded and ministered to the dying, focused entirely on their needs while at the same time carrying the thought inside himself _all will be well._

The line is dreadful, in these days of modern technology, John thinks, they could do something about the static.

“I’m sorry Johnny, no show.”

“What…”

“He never turned up, no-one like that there. I went straight from work, arrived about five thirty, the museum was closing, so I walked round the outside then stood at the main door by the columns until gone seven, just in case, you know what the traffic is like on a Friday night.”

John is yet to be informed that only lies have detail, he finds Harry’s story infinitely plausible. He cannot speak.

“Johnny, are you there? Did you hear what I said?”

“Enough, I heard enough. It was a long shot anyway, but thank you.”

The line breaks before they say goodbye.

Harry stares at her phone, she feels a louse. She’s let her brother down, she’s let Clara down and she’s let herself down. This has got to stop.

No more flaky Harry One, no more lost weekends, no more benders.


	17. “I never knew it could be this way.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #13

Sherlock returns to Montague Street having obtained from Wiggins what is required to see his situation with sparkling clarity.

He positions himself full length on the dilapidated sofa bed that is the sole useful piece of furniture in his bedsit and lets the solution flowing through his veins take him to the place he needs to be.

On arrival in his mind palace Sherlock takes a cursory glance towards the throne room, as he feared, his older brother, who has been delightfully absent much of the past year, is back in residence.

Ignoring his royal stoutness he quickly climbs to the attic where he retrieves an ivory inlaid mahogany box (Italian, seventeenth century), before descending to the cellar.

Once there, the hole already prepared, Sherlock takes the precious box, lines it with a familiar plaid shirt and soft jumper and finally places his still beating heart inside.

Sherlock takes one last look before closing the lid and securing the box with a padlock on every side.

“I never knew it could be this way.”

“Ridiculous, I told you often enough,” Piecroft, despite his natural aversion to legwork has followed Sherlock down, “Caring is not an advantage.”

Sherlock disregards the corpulent apparition, shovelling earth to cover the box completely.

“You win,” He tells the figment Mycroft, “now it’s well and truly buried.”


	18. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #6

Three months, six days and seventeen hours and John Watson is finally on leave.

He’s not alone; Murray, Turner and Simmonds have also hitched lifts on a variety of RAF planes in search of sun, sand and sex, their final destination Cyprus, Paphos and the Med.

So far they’ve found the sun and sand and tonight they are hitting the bars looking to complete the hat trick.

They strike it lucky in the second bar, a group of nurses from Swansea on a hen week. Although some of the girls are spoken for, there are four who are prepared to divide the spoils amongst themselves, especially when the boys turn out to be not common or garden squaddies but medics.

John pairs off with Ceri, a petite and curvy blonde with an infectious laugh and an accent you could cut with a knife; for the rest of the week they are inseparable.

Towards the end John hints at keeping in touch but Ceri doesn’t bite, she knows deep down that John would rather she was someone else.

On the last night, after a few too many tequila sunrises, she kindly lets him down and says as much.

John flares up. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

His sudden anger confirms that she was right; he’s cute but far too much emotional baggage.


	19. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #15

Six months, three days and fifteen hours after the internment, Sherlock Holmes is helping the police with their enquiries.

A seriously overworked and totally mystified DS Lestrade has finally buckled under the weight of Sherlock’s almost constant stream of texts _(How did he get his number?)_ and invited the amateur detective to express an opinion.

Arriving at the scene Sherlock makes short work of the SOC officers and of the case itself. He rattles off a series of seemingly random deductions that cannot possibly be substantiated while simultaneously displaying all the symptoms of a man high on something. Lestrade can only hope it’s life.

“False teeth… pleurisy… only child… banker… votes conservative,” the isolated words forming pieces of a puzzle falling seamlessly into place, “Lived in Stirling… Episcopalian”

Sherlock turns to address his waiting audience, “I think you should investigate the funds missing from St Bernard’s Pence, an Episcopalian charity based in Scotland, with assets on four continents, find the other signatory on the account and you have your murderer.”

Lestrade who had come to the conclusion this was burglary gone wrong is sceptical. “You mean this was a hit.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

Within Sherlock’s own degree of difficulty the case is barely a three. It’s why the Met make such hard work of it that leaves Sherlock baffled.


	20. “What if I don’t see it?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #12

Mycroft Holmes is a busy man, with little respite between being the British government, the secret service and moonlighting as the CIA, yet he always has time for his brother.

Unfortunately, Sherlock doesn’t have time for him.

Mycroft doesn’t deal in regrets, if he did he might spare one for the loss of his childhood shadow, but far too much water has flowed under that particular bridge. Instead he watches from a distance, through the capital’s CCTV network, the minutiae of his brother’s existence.

Sighing fondly over the shambles Sherlock has reduced the flat in Montague Street to.

Observing with something akin to pride, Sherlock’s positive application of deduction in the service of his country.

Noting with resignation that Sherlock hardly eats, or sleeps, or socialises.

Discovering with alarm his brother’s escalating dependence on his seven per cent solution.

Mycroft makes an intervention.

“You are not in control of it, it’s controlling you,” Mycroft waves a hand at Sherlock’s cocaine paraphernalia on the little table, “You must see it will destroy everything you hold most dear?”

“What if I don’t see it?” Sherlock sneers, “It’s none of your business”

It is worse than Mycroft feared, drastic action is required. Within minutes of leaving the flat, Mycroft is speaking to his assistant, “Operation De Quincey is Go!” 

_Si vis pacem, para bellum.*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *if you want peace, prepare for war


	21. “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #21

John is home on leave.

Harry had asked John to stand up with her on her wedding day. John has met Clara and thoroughly approves; he knows instinctively that she is far too good for Harry, despite their apparent devotion.

After the reception the newlyweds depart on honeymoon while John vacations at their flat.

John takes the opportunity to visit the haunts of his student days, Bart’s, St Sepulchre’s, the pubs at Smithfield market, before wandering up High Holborn to Russell Square pausing for coffee on the way.

It’s well past five by the time John arrives, exactly twelve months late, at that landmark building.

“I’m sorry, Sir, we’re closing.”

“I know,” John’s heart is heavy, “I know the Museum closes at five thirty.”

“Except on Fridays, Sir.” The concierge wishes to assist this sorrowful looking gentleman, “If you wish to visit in the evening come back then.”

“You open late on Fridays?”

“Yes Sir, until half past eight, last admission seven forty-five.”

“Is that a recent change?”

“Oh no Sir, change is annoyingly difficult, the public and the tourism board don’t like it.”

John thanks him for his time and walks away unseeing. Harry’s voice, the crackling line echoes in his head.

Harry has let him down many, many times since infancy but never has he felt so utterly betrayed.


	22. “Secrets? I love secrets.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #18

Barred from Scotland Yard for bad behaviour and living under the ever more watchful eye of Big Brother, Sherlock is terminally bored. He is therefore surprisingly responsive when contacted by an elderly lady who wishes to engage his services.

_It has come to this_, Sherlock laments, _lost cats! _But he agrees to meet her.

Martha Hudson although of mature years, is further from being a sweet old lady than her predicament is from missing felines.

It involves a drug cartel, the summary execution of a police officer, and one Frank Hudson, current residence, Death Row, Florida. Sherlock baulks and refuses to assist but she’s persistent.

“The evidence was flimsy at best, his appeal is in three weeks, Frank will get off”

“Then why do you require my assistance?”

“Frank Hudson is an evil man; if he goes free my life is over. I have the evidence to prove his guilt, he deserves the needle”

“Then go to Florida yourself”

Mrs Hudson cannot meet his eye “There are so many secrets”

“Secrets? I love secrets.” Sherlock rubs his hands with glee.

“I’ll tell you, if you’ll help me”

The case has already piqued Sherlock’s interest, he agrees.

“As Frank’s wife, I’ll go down too; the authorities will never believe I only did the typing”

Sherlock cannot resist a deduction “and the Burlesque”


	23. “You keep me warm.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #26

Association, of the sort John has in mind with Ben, although now perfectly legal, is not exactly facilitated by the army. While entitled to some privileges due to his officer status, John in fact shares a billet with another doctor on his rotation and privacy, difficult to come by at the best of times, is almost impossible to achieve.

However this does not deter our hero, John did not acquire his legendary ‘three continents’ sobriquet without learning to use his initiative, where there’s a will there’s a way. John’s had his eye on the slim dark nursing officer since Ben arrived in Kandahar in the summer, and after tentative expressions of interest (neither man is out) they are ready to take their friendship to the next level.

Except to take it where. The field hospital is hardly the place for a secret assignation; it lacks the nooks and corners where such events can be accomplished in English hospitals. Without a sluice room or a doctors’ mess the lovers are forced into a supply tent at night, in winter, an unheated one at that.

“I’m sorry” John whispers, through chattering teeth “I should have known it was freezing out here”

“You keep me warm” Ben whispers back “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

John rises to the challenge and does his bit.


	24. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #4

Sherlock has embarked on his third stint in rehab since leaving university. He finds it every bit as tedious as the previous occasions and passes the time deducing the other inmates, their visitors and the staff, and enjoying the resultant mayhem.

Anything to avoid being bored.

Mycroft, dutiful to the last, visits fortnightly, though he can hardly spare the time. Someone has to ensure that Sherlock hasn’t absconded and that treatment is maintained.

Sherlock reserves a special level of acrimony for his older brother, and delights in displaying it to great effect, though in truth he is more annoyed with himself at getting caught than with his brother for incarcerating him, and that is saying something.

Mycroft attempts wise counsel though it is as futile as trying to halt the waves.

“I know you didn’t ask for this.” 

“Don’t be obvious” Sherlock snarls.

“If only you would consider a useful occupation” Mycroft’s days of wishing his brother would join him in The Service are long gone, such a liability

“I have an occupation” Sherlock announces proudly, “I am a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I invented the job.”

“You can hardly call yourself a consultant if nobody consults you” Mycroft caves “Very well, I’ll see if Detective Inspector Lestrade will condescend, but you must leave off the Blow”


	25. “I’m with you, you know that.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #30

The exact circumstances regarding Captain Watson’s injury are a mystery, particularly how the doctor came to be on patrol that day. However as an acknowledged marksman, his superior officers were known to regard him as a useful man to have on board in any situation.

Luck on the battlefield is a finite resource and there is not always enough to go round.

A bullet comes from nowhere and strikes Carter, there’s little to be done but John cannot abandon hope without a fight. It’s while he is bent over trying to breathe life into his fallen comrade that the sniper’s second bullet strikes John in the shoulder.

The damage is extensive, followed by a fever, which compounds the injury that finishes his career.

It is essential that John be evacuated as a matter of priority, his old friend Murray is detailed to accompany him. The helicopter ride is torture, with John sedated but not completely unconscious; his temperature and vital signs are a cause of alarm for Bill, as are John’s incoherent ramblings.

“I’m sorry, sorry” John mutters, a litany of _‘I didn’t forget’_ and ‘_where are you?_’

“I’m with you, you know that.” Murray repeats to comfort his friend, relieved when John quietens and sleep claims him.

Murray cannot know for John the war is over… the battle just begun.


	26. “I’m doing this for you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #29

On his discharge from rehabilitation, Sherlock is appalled to discover that he been evicted from his bolthole in Montague Street. Forced to reside at his brother’s apartment, all his worldly goods in boxes, Sherlock makes his displeasure known by being as obnoxious as possible, to the extent that even the usually impervious Mycroft finally reaches the limit.

Mycroft addresses Sherlock as if he were a public meeting. “I have spoken to Mummy and Father and they agree that you may stay with them in Sussex”

Sherlock point blank refuses. “My work is in London”

“Your hobby, seeing that it generates no income”

Sherlock’s response is to screech aggressively with his violin for half an hour sending his brother scuttling to his club. But inwardly Sherlock concedes Mycroft is right, he cannot afford another flat on his slender means. While Mycroft controls his funds he is as trapped as he was in the hospital.

Rescue comes from an unlikely source. Sherlock receives a letter from the recently widowed Martha Hudson, who apparently now owns a town house in central London which was converted, years ago and somewhat eccentrically, into flats.

Arranging to meet at the property, Sherlock questions the rent but Mrs Hudson is adamant.

“I’m doing this for you because I owe you; I'm giving you first refusal on flat B.”


	27. “I can’t come back.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #14

Murray, his most recent tour of duty over and back in Blighty, schleps all the way to Headley Court to call on his injured pal.

He finds John in better shape than he expected and encouraged by the doctor’s stoic demeanour Murray does not immediately observe the tell-tale tremor or the aluminium crutch that leans against his chair.

Murray is on good form, regaling John with the most entertaining snippets of Camp gossip, and it is some time before he notices how John is favouring his right hand while the left, his dominant one, is fixed firmly at his side. Murray refrains from questions but wonders just how far from being fit for work his old friend is.

He changes the subject “I almost forgot” indicating the tightly sealed bag “I brought your kit, as instructed”

“You didn’t go through it?”

“No time, mate”

In truth Murray found John’s kit bag so expertly tied he knew he’d never get away with it. John looks relieved.

“We miss you at the Base” Murray continues “Can’t wait for your return”

A shadow passes over John’s visage; he thinks of his forthcoming medical board. Time to face the facts.

“I won’t be back”

Murray starts to protest but John silences him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to come back, I can’t come back”


	28. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #3

Lestrade’s convinced the suspect has a shooter and says as much. He radios for assistance and settles down to wait, except the irresponsible git of a consultant he’s been landed with is off on the chase and the DI has little choice but to follow him.

The pursuit almost ends in disaster, the warehouse floor is rotten, the lift shaft unsafe, it’s only when the back-up forces arrive that they are out of danger.

Gavin is quite incandescent, and bawls Sherlock out loudly and at great length.

“What were you thinking of? Going in there alone, what did you expect?”

Sherlock lets George rant on; although he would never admit it, he is distracted. His mind has been on other things all day, no wonder he’s lost his edge.

“You were right; we shouldn’t have gone into the warehouse”

“Now? Now you listen to me?” Gerard says incredulously “That’s a first”

“No, the warehouse was a blind, a waste of valuable time; they have another headquarters closer to the wharf. I need to concentrate. Silence everyone!”

Sherlock focuses, he solves the case.

(Sherlock’s mental filing system is a mystery even to himself. He has deleted the solar system in its entirety; he cannot name the present King of England yet somehow without trying recalls that tomorrow marks another year gone by).


	29. “You could talk about it, you know?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #20

John does not dislike Ella; in fact he views her as a competent medical professional. What he dislikes is being her patient.

Ella is clever, empathetic and insightful; she burrows deep into the heart of John’s situation with the aim of examining what they find there. Today they are tackling the subject of John’s estrangement from Harry.

“John, you’re a soldier, it’s going take you a while to adjust to civilian life; your relationships with friends and family are significant in this”

John is silent.

“You could talk about it, you know?”

John is silent.

_How do I explain_, John thinks _My sister lied to me about a place she didn’t go to, to meet a man who I only knew for a few hours but can’t forget, who may well have not been there anyway, and as a result she may have ruined my life if it hadn’t been ruined already by a sniper’s bullet._

Even in his thoughts it sounds absurd, there’s no way John can articulate it.

_An exercise in futility, _John thinks as he leaves the clinic._ Was it for this he prayed so earnestly – Oh God, let me live?_

_If he’d known he’d end up with a choice between the recently separated, heavily drinking Harry or a bedsit in a ex-serviceman’s hostel, he wouldn’t have bothered._


	30. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #10

John, walking slowly and painfully across Russell Square Gardens, head down to avoid the sight of the British Museum, is so deep in thought that he does not immediately respond to the sound of his own name being called.

His therapy session has just majored on the significance of friends and family in the healing process, this does not mean being greeted by a former colleague in a public park is welcome.

John remembers Mike Stamford once prompted, but has no wish to revisit his carefree student days. Mike however does not take the hint and fires off a series of questions that John would find intrusive from anyone else.

In some ways it is a relief to moan about the cost of living in the capital to someone who can appreciate the difficulty.

“You’re the second person to say that to me today”

“Who was the first?”

John is genuinely surprised when Mike insists that he returns to Bart’s with him. “Listen, I can’t explain it; you’ll have to trust me.”

John is not big on trust but it would be churlish to refuse and he's determined not to hang around the park until six o’clock, despite the date.

_Ella would be pleased with him_, John thinks, _going to Bart’s with Mike; might shut her up about his non-existent blog._


	31. “Can you wait for me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #27

“Bit different to my day”

John has followed Mike into one of the research labs where their younger selves learned their trade. It is already occupied by...

John is incredulous, possibly dreaming because there by all that is marvellous is Mr Cheekbones; older, thinner, better dressed but unmistakable.

Alas hope dies before it gains expression; the calculating look the man is giving John contains no hint of recognition.

Mike, oblivious to the drama going on around him, introduces John. A phone is borrowed; inspired guesses at the soldier’s past are made, after which John is abruptly invited to view a flat share that evening.

Not one for superfluous conversation, Sherlock is almost out the door when John panics and protests.

“Can you wait for me?” John pleads, trying not to sound pathetic.

“Things to do, places to be, I’ve left my riding crop in the mortuary, see you at six”

“Wait! We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name”

Mr Cheekbones pauses, turns and looks at John directly.

“The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is the British Museum, that's enough. Try to be there this time”

And with a wave and a wink he vanishes.

“Yes, he’s always like that” Mike supplies.

“I know” John beams “Completely brilliant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it is done. Another #fictober ends with my OTP together at last.


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really this was finished, but I couldn't resist a little epilogue.

A still smiling John Watson bids farewell to Mike Stamford, forever in his debt.

He catches the bus back to his bedsit, where he packs his meagre possessions into boxes before taking a taxi (the extravagance!) to the British Museum. This is one rendezvous where he cannot afford to take chances.

Prompt to the second, Sherlock appears and greets John warmly but without any display of affection. John is not disappointed.

The two men walk to Baker Street and despite the distance John is untroubled by his leg, although he is too wrapped up in his companion to notice.

At Baker Street, Mrs Hudson is delighted to see them and tests the waters.

“There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two”

Sherlock glances shyly at John who shakes his head imperceptibly. This suits them both, Sherlock because he has already earmarked the room for a laboratory and John because he thinks some of Sherlock’s things can be stored there, but mainly because they belong together.

Formalities concluded and with no harassed DIs or murderous cabbies to interrupt them, Sherlock suggests they go out to celebrate their new circumstances. John readily agrees.

At an Italian where the owner owes Sherlock a favour, the detective outlines a case while John conducts light, in the pattern that will last a lifetime.

** _The Beginning._ **


End file.
